


Flames and Darkness are Knives of Their Own

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Castration, Everything Hurts, Gen, Mutilation, Theon Finds Out That Robb is Dead, Torture, this is a horror story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-24
Updated: 2013-08-24
Packaged: 2017-12-24 12:04:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/939808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theon has just endured "a few alterations" at the hands of Ramsay Bolton. He has an agonizing healing process to go through, but Ramsay gives him hope of a promise of news of Robb Stark. Has Theon truly been forgiven and pardoned by the King in the North, or is it too  good to be true?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flames and Darkness are Knives of Their Own

**Author's Note:**

> After watching the Season 3 episodes, I couldn't stop wondering what happened to Theon during the time when he wasn't onscreen between episodes 7 and 10. It just kept haunting me and bugging me. So I wrote up my own version to get it out of my system, and posted it on the Archives for Thramsay week. It turned out even worse than I had intended. If you want a happy ending, you're reading the wrong story. You have been warned!
> 
> WARNING: This is really gruesome. Poor Theon. :(

Theon tried yet again in vain to scramble to his feet. The second he made it up, a sharp crack slammed into his face, knocking him to the ground. It took him a full few seconds to register the backhand he'd taken. It had been bad enough to dull his senses, and he stared at the spectators with blurry, swollen eyes half-blinded by blood. He'd heard something -- something, but all the sounds and people around him just swirled through his ringing brain like fog -- about "slight alterations." And Ramsay had just pulled out a knife. He tried to get a grip on his swirling thoughts, remembered the set-up with the two whores, the way Ramsay liked to fuck with his head, and the situation, and the timing, and the taunts about his manhood, and the knife, that curved knife --

No no no no no. Please gods no. No. Please no.

The jarring bolt of horror gave him a last burst of adrenaline, and he tried to stand again, but all he could do was writhe on the ground mere inches across the floor. Blurry figures surrounded him, figures he vaguely recognized as the girls - they'd been so kind mere seconds ago, and now just stared coldly at him with mocking derision - and the Bastard himself, the man so cruel he seemed like a hazy dream villain, the monster from Theon's deepest nightmare. The Bastard whistled, and the sound felt too light, too wrong. Two heavy-built, hooded men strode in, smirking at their dark-haired ringleader while waiting for the command. Ramsay nodded curtly and advanced towards him, knife outstretched.

Theon had crawled into a corner, somehow thinking that it would protect him. Tears stung his eyes as he realized what a foolish mistake he'd made. He hadn't reached protection - he had trapped himself with nowhere to go. He peered from behind his shaking arms to glimpse Ramsay and the men, but they had no compassion for him. Just contempt, scorn, even amusement. The tears came faster now as he looked toward the girls, but neither made any move to help him.

Shame bubbled up in Theon as pathetic moans and whimpers began to burst from his throat. The tears came freely now, running down his face and mixing with the blood and filth caked into the dungeon floor. Screams and pleas for mercy filled the chamber, coming from somewhere deep within him, but it couldn't really be him. That voice couldn't be his. 

Ramsay snickered as each of his men pinned down one of Theon's legs. Theon's screams had grown louder now, so loud his head pounded and everything blurred. He couldn't think.

No, please no.

Ramsay slowly cut open Theon's tattered breeches, starting with the top laces, undoing them at first the way a woman would. Then he used the knife, cutting the fabric slowly, and cutting down, down, down, until the pants fell apart in shreds. Theon had started shaking uncontrollably, violently. He had never felt so violated or terrified in his entire life. Soon the steel tip of Ramsay's blade met his stomach.

"If you fight me, I'll gut you like a boar and rip your entrails out and choke you with them."

If Theon had been able to fight, he would have accepted that fate. He longed for nothing more than the sweet escape of death. But he was too broken to fight. With four days without food or sleep and three days without water, he couldn't even crawl away, let alone fight off the three men who restrained him. So he sobbed, and he pleaded, and he shook, and he waited. Waited, because he knew that no matter what he did, it was still coming.

The knife traveled downward, slowly, So slowly. Ramsay grabbed him in one hand and chuckled under his breath.

"Lord Greyjoy, I'm afraid you disappoint as usual. What about all the rumors of your size and girth? It seems you...fall short You didn't seem like you were having a problem down there a few minutes ago."

Theon couldn't find the words to respond. He was too thirsty for his tongue to form words, and his raw cries left no room for words at all.

Then he felt a painful squeeze, and a hot, white, blinding agony. Then a tearing pain in his throat as his screaming swallowed everything around him. Then nothing.

\- 

He awoke later. Had it been hours? Days? He was somewhere on a cold stone floor, still naked, and freezing, surrounded by a blanket of pitch-black darkness. White-hot agony pulsated through his entire body, making him convulse. The shaking caused his open wounds to scrape against the rough stone, causing even more pain. He shut his eyes, trying to escape in any way he could, but it made no difference in this dark. He could sense nothing, except the excruciating torment, except the slimy salty taste of his tears. 

He covered his face with his arms when the door barged open. Heavy footsteps shuffled in and banged the door shut behind them with a menacing echo. Someone lit the torches in the corners of the room, giving a hellish dim fire-light.

"Wake up."

It was HIS voice. Theon buried his face even deeper into his arms. The other man grabbed Theon's arms with gloved hands and yanked them aside, delivering a hard kick to his face. Thick, coppery liquid poured from his nose and mixed with the sweat and tears, the latter of which racked his body freely and uncontrollably.

"I said wake up. Now GET UP. Sit up. Look at me. Don't you dare disobey me or I'll make it a thousand times worse for you."

Theon was barely able to move now at all, but he dragged himself into an upright sitting position, keeping his legs drawn up to hide his wound -- surely this brute knew what it looked like, but he couldn't look at it himself, please, he just couldn't -- and his arms wrapped protectively around his knees.

"Look at me."

He forced himself to meet his torturer's eyes. They were colorless, like dirty flakes of ice from a stale winter. Behind the icy-eyed man stood the two henchman who had restrained him. They now stood over him with an overbearing force, visually sizing him up, allowing him no dignity or privacy from their dagger-like eyes.  
Please.

"See, my mother always taught me to be kind to hostages," he said softly, running a finger along Theon's chest and neck until he reached the place just under his chin. He jerked the Greyjoy's face, forcing him to meet his eyes again. "But my father told me, give 'em the worst you've got. And I think you deserve the worst! Don't you? You killed two boys, betrayed the family that raised you as one of their own. All for what, pwecious daddy to give you a hug? You're disgusting." He spat on him with the last word, leaving the dripping strand of saliva to pool down the side of Theon's face and into his searing, still-open whip wounds.

"But that's not why I'm here," the ice man continued. Theon forced his eyes open again before his tormentor could notice and find more reason to hurt him.

"I'm here because I need to keep you alive. You're no good to me dead! I need you! Ugh, look at all this blood. Why didn't the maesters alert me sooner?" He jerked Theon's face down, forcing him to discover the copious crimson pool that enveloped him, soaking his entire shaking form and pooling out towards the door. Theon's exposed flesh was even paler than it had been before. No wonder he'd been unconscious for so long. The sight of his draining lifeblood soothed the miserable Ironborn. Soon he could find glory in the Drowned Halls at last. 

"We have our ways of dealing with blood loss, don't you worry," he continued to coo. "Damon, bring me the cauters." The closest other man grinned evilly as he reached into his pockets, producing metal rods tipped with white-hot heat, so hot Theon could see the fire.

"You know what to do," the boy drawled, sounding almost bored. "Stop the bleeding."

Theon knew enough of healing to know what they meant. 

"No, please," he begged, crying, hating himself for stooping to such levels and for the evidence of the tears and snot that ran down his face. "Please please please please no. Don't burn me, please, I can't take it. I can't. Please let me die. Please, please just let me--"

The bastard moved closer to him, as close as a lover, and wrapped a hand over Theon's mouth.

"Ssshhhh. You remember what I said about hostages. About needing you alive."

Theon's desperate sobs still almost drowned out the whispers, and the Bastard clamped his mouth tighter.

"Be good, now, and I'll have some news that may comfort you. Your dear friend Robb isn't out to execute you after all."

Theon's eyes met his willingly for the first time, shining with something that looked like hope. The Bastard smiled. Soon he'd have that all taken care of.

"Boys, you know what to do."

The men held Theon's legs apart, snarling insults about the vile abomination that now lay between them. Theon couldn't listen. He waited for the hot, hot pain. But this pain was different. Soon, he stopped feeling. And then he wasn't aware of anything at all.

-

He woke up again some time later, this time in the dim glow of the firelight, this time wearing a thick layer of bandages to at least hide the wound. He didn't want to look for himself, not if he didn't have to.  
Please.

This time, when the ice-chipped bastard opened the door, Theon didn't move an inch or make any sound. He had already sobbed and screamed himself raw. He had no more left to give.

The boy strode across the room carefreely, whistling some happy tune. He adjusted the fires, fixed his pink-tinted cape, swept the floor.

After a few minutes, he noticed Theon as though he were an afterthought. He sat down next to him and ran a hand through his hair, almost tenderly, almost lovingly.

"When was the last time you had water?"

Days, Theon wanted to say. Weeks. Please, I'm dying, please, I'm in misery, please help me please. But he couldn't talk. His tongue had become too shriveled, almost hardened, leaving him powerless to say anything at all. So he nestled his head into the boy's knees. It was a silent plea, a dying plea, the only plea he could give.

"You poor man. The dungeons can be so cruel here, and for that I am truly sorry." He moved one arm over to retrieve something: a flask of water. He held it gently to Theon's lips, so dried they were cracked with blood. He held it a mere inch away from his face, as his fingers gently ran through the other man's bloodied, matted hair. A low, keening whimper escaped Theon's throat. The bastard allowed a little water into Theon's mouth, then more, then more. He downed the flask in under a minute.

"Pl...please?" With the help of some slight hydration, the Ironborn could now talk, but barely, and only in hoarse, cracking whispers. "More water. Please. Water? Pl...." his head slumped back onto Ramsay's knees.

"Oh, no, not yet, my sweet Lord Greyjoy," purred the bastard. "Not yet. First I have news for you, don't you remember?"

Theon did remember, now. He forced himself to raise his head and sit up, painful though it was. "News..." he panted. "Robb?"

"Good!" The icy eyes lit up with a sparkle, and an eager grin spread over his face, like a proud father whose child just took his first steps. "Very good. Yes, Robb. The King in the North was originally hell-bent to come after you, once. Did you know that? He wanted your head!"

And my head he'd deserve, Theon thought. After all I've done. After all I've suffered. I want to die. A quick beheading in the arms of my one true friend. It would be so kind. Too kind. But he could no longer find the words to speak, so he listened.

"Well, you don't have to worry about that little problem anymore. And do you know why that is?"

Theon blinked. Had Robb forgiven him? Had he taken mercy on his boyhood friend, understood the situation, learned the truth about his brothers being alive, somehow decided to grant him pardon?

"BOYS!" the man bellowed, making Theon jolt. "Bring out the King in the North!"

Laughter roared from somewhere far away, and footsteps approached. Footsteps dragging something. Something heavy. 

No.

 

"You see, my father and some friends took care of him for us," the boy smirked. "I knew you were always quite the joker. I think maybe you'll appreciate the beauty in this little joke of mine. It took quite a bit of effort to bring him here, as everyone needed proof he was truly gotten rid of, but my father is who he is, and my father and I always get our way."

The door opened and dragged in something...something that.....no.

The body, discolored and swollen, was an imposter wearing Robb's clothes. It had to be. It wasn't Robb. It didn't have Robb's head. It had the head of...of...of....and Theon recognized the markings in Grey Wind's face, and retched onto his legs.

"You are disgusting," the bastard snapped with mild irritation, looking at the vomit. But his mood instantly brightened again.

"Well, I'll leave you alone with the body. I'll let you reconnect with your old friend...or, I suppose he's your enemy now, isn't he? I'll just leave him in here with you. He can stay until he finishes rotting." 

The ice bastard gave Robb's body a hard kick and put out the all the torch lights before slamming the door shut with a terrifying echo.

In the darkness, Theon heard the buzzing of the flies.

He started to scream.


End file.
